


The Duchess and the Detective

by rebelcinderella



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Actual Detective Work, BAMF Molly Hooper, Confused Sherlock, Corpses on Wheels, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Nasty surprises, Political Intrigue, Slow Build, Slow Burn, and a Fancy gala, strong woman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-04-24 09:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 11,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14352417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelcinderella/pseuds/rebelcinderella
Summary: Molly Hooper is tired of waiting for Sherlock to notice her, but what can she do to speed things up? Turns out a lot, and Sherlock is in for a big surprise.





	1. Molly Hooper Plots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do!

Three years. THREE YEARS! I cannot believe I have sat here pining for this stupid man for three whole years and he still hasn't noticed. I've tried lipstick, dates, coffee, even getting a new boyfriend, but nothing seems to work. The great Sherlock Holmes is impervious to my feminine charms.

But, do you know what? I'm tired of this. Tired of him underestimating me as Lestrade looks on in pity. He might not pay attention to me, but he'll pay attention to her. I never thought I'd have to bring her into the real world, and maybe I should have done this a long time ago, but tonight it ends. Sherlock Holmes, prepare to meet the real Molly Hooper.


	2. Dead Man Walking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wall takes a beating and Lestrade brings Sherlock a present.

“BORED!"

Yet again, Sherlock was shooting bullets at the wall. John tried not to flinch as the crack of the trigger and the whistle of the bullet leaving the barrel echoed around the room. Mrs Hudson hadn't been best pleased the last time Sherlock did this, and Dr John Watson didn't think she would be now. To be honest, it was a wonder he even still had the flat with some of his goings-on.

The sound of the gun hitting the table and Sherlock grumbling roused him from his thoughts.  
"What’s the matter, Sherlock? Did shooting the wall get too boring for you?"  
Sherlock scowled at him.  
"Save your petty jokes for someone who cares." he threw back before walking into his room and slamming the door.

Some people are so touchy, thought John, as he got back to the copy of The Hobbit he was reading for the thousandth time. He had almost forgotten that Sherlock and his flat was never anything less than a war zone when DI Lestrade walked in.

"Alright John? Where is he?" he nodded at the army doctor, looking very stressed.

John merely pointed at the door before getting back to his book.  
"SHERLOCK. Come out, I have a puzzle for you."  
"BORED!" came the indignant reply.

"Well, I am sure you'll come across dead bodies robbing mansions in Surrey every day of week. I'm sorry to have bothered you.” the Detective Inspector, mocking subservience, replied, mentally counting down the seconds until Sherlock stuck his head out of the door.

9..8...7...6...

"I'm sure it can't be a dead man, Lestrade." Sherlock said, opening the door a fraction.

"Well, the fingerprints belong to a man processed three weeks ago as a suicide and the burglary was committed last night. £3.5 million worth of diamonds, jewels and various trinkets was stolen. If anyone can tell me how a dead man suddenly climbs out of his grave and robs a wealthy member of parliament and then vanishes again, I'm sure you can."

There was a beat of silence in the room before...

"AT LAST!" Sherlock yelled. "Something interesting! A dead man walks and Mrs Hudson's wall can live to see another day.

As he rushed down the stairs and hailed a taxi, It was all the Detective Inspector and the Doctor could do to keep up with him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dead bodies robbing stuff now? Creepy. I'm guessing nobody has figured what this has to do with a romance between Molly and Sherlock, but I promise clues wil start to crop up. Very, VERY slow burn, but I dare say worth the wait...I think?


	3. Who’s That Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly struts her stuff and Sherlock has a stylish middle name.

In her blood red dress, Molly Hooper-Ramone, The Duchess of Salisbury, knew she looked stunning. With the amount of dresses she had, she knew anything less was criminal. As she paused at the top of the two-part staircase in the mansion of her best friend, Sally Donovan, the Duchess of Bloomsbury, she wondered which young men would be paying attention to her tonight. Ever since she had had a makeover and got a personal trainer, a lot of men had been paying attention to her, especially Lord James Moriarty. She wasn't particularly interested in his advances, but a girl never turned down an ego boost. She had even seen her best friend's uncle, Duke Gregory Lestrade, taking a couple of second and third glances at her, but she saw him as an extended father figure and did not really regard it as true interest.

In fact, if Molly was honest with herself, there was only one man she really wanted to be seen with, and to see her. Lord Sherlock Xavier Henry Holmes, Earl of Marylebone. Tall, raven haired, blue eyed and chisel-jawed, Lord Holmes was widely known to be the smartest man in the British aristocracy. It was said that Duke Lestrade kept plying him to do some occasional work with MI5 or MI6 but that Lord Holmes was never interested in doing anything other than using his genius and intellect for sleights of hand at the card table and predicting which horses would win each of the major racing meets. To be honest, it was just as well, Molly thought to herself, because if he did bother to get involved in police or intelligence work, Molly Hooper-Holmes would be less of a resident in Mayfair and more of a resident in HM Pentonville or HM Holloway.

She fingered her diamond earrings nervously. As long as Amelia didn't check her jewellery box too closely, she would never know anything was missing.

Molly walked down the stairs.

In her bathroom at home with a glass of red wine and Cody Chestnutt playing in the background, Molly smiled to herself. It was good to be the centre of attention, even if it was only in one's dreams.


	4. Dead Man Walking Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock’s spidey senses tingle.

“So you say, Lestrade, that this corpse is the man whose fingerprints we found on the door handle, various places around the house and on the safe where the jewels and other items were stolen from."

"Yes, Sherlock, the forensic-."

"Since I have to assume that Anderson is heading up your forensic team, I have to treat the forensic team as though they were nursery school children at a Stephen Hawking lecture. Firstly: what jewel thief “or even opportunistic burglar worth their salt would leave fingerprints all around the house practically leaving themselves to be identified? Secondly: was the crime actually committed last night or did this man commit the burglary three weeks ago and kill himself over the guilt? Thirdly: Why this man? Is there something important about this particular dead man that links back to this crime other than the possibility he may have done it? Why this house, why this MP? Who was he? When you can give me the answers to these important questions then the quicker we shall solve this case. "  
Sherlock swung around on his heels, his long overcoat swinging just above his ankles, and swept out of the room, John and his stick following along behind him.

"What happened just now, Sherlock? One minute you are all enthusiasm about the possibility of a dead man robbing an MP of nearly £4 million worth of jewels, and now you are treading all over Lestrade about the tedium of the case as though this is a simple cat being stuck up a tree." John could not believe his friend and flatmate could “suddenly lose interest so quickly over such an interesting case.  
"Think it through John. Cases which start off being boring and unsatisfactory always end us as the most entertaining. Remember the disappearing banker? Or the Hound of the Baskervilles? Hardly anything to write home about to begin with, but front page worthy by the end, wouldn't you agree?"

John could do nothing but nod, wondering what his friend was getting at.

"On the other side of the coin, you have what appears to be a corpse robbing the home of a prominent member of the Conservative government of nearly £4 millon pounds worth of his jewels and jewellery. Bizarre, intriguing, costly and news-worthy. Something so apparently promising can only be disappointing further down the line and thus, until Lestrade can answer the questions I have posed to him, I have no further interest in this case. Now, how does one go about getting a taxi out of here?”

~~~~~~~~

Sherlock sat in the taxi staring out of the window. Something about this case did not sit right with him. It was always his experience that whatever was on the surface of a case was never the true story, and something as bizarre as a kleptomanic corpse was certainly a diversion for something more, but he could not yet figure it out. What could somebody be covering up that would leave them to commit such a uniquely constructed plan? Was it really about covering a larger crime, or was this another Moriarty situation, where it was less about the crime itself and more about being audacious and headline-grabbing? Sherlock did not know whether he could handle another Moriarty type figure, he had nearly lost everything with the original. Sherlock shifted in his seat. No, the quicker this became clearer to him, the easier he would sleep at night.


	5. Contacted by Royalty

“Tonight on BBC News, Scotland Yard are reported to be baffled after the fingerprints of a deceased man were found at the scene of a robbery committed at the home of Sebastian Alperton-Moss, prominent Conservative MP, late last night. Forensic experts have dismissed claims that this crime went unnoticed for at least three weeks or more, saying that tests have proved that oils in the fingerprints date “them no more than 48 hours ago; despite the death of the man 3 weeks ago. Police are still searching for a link between the dead man and Mr Alperton-Moss, as well as trying to figure out how the fingerprints were placed there after the current suspect's death, if that is truly the case.” 

John switched off the television and turned to Sherlock, who was sat hunched in the armchair.

"Are you still convinced that this case is simply a smokescreen for the proverbial cat stuck up a tree?"

"When something comes up that convinces me that this case is not simply hysteria and incompetence, then I'll bite."

"Sherlock Holmes, how many times have I told you that I am not your housekeeper? You're lucky that this letter had such a strong perfume on it or I would have left it sitting there until you deigned to pick it up." Mrs Hudson brushed through the room, dropping the post on the side table next to Sherlock's arm chair.

“And you have been shooting at my walls again?! What am I going to do with you?!"

"I do apologise, Mrs Hudson, it won't happen again." Sherlock smiled widely at his landlady who grumbled loudly and left the room once more.

"What are you grinning about, Sherlock. Mrs Hudson is gearing up to kick us out of the flat and you think this is You've Been Framed?"

"My dear John Watson," Sherlock replied, holding up the violet envelope with blood red seal. "We have been contacted by royalty.”


	6. To Sherlock, with Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock learns that, sometimes, the personal touch works.

Dear Mr Holmes,

I am so glad I finally have your attention. It has been so long since you had a truly interesting case to deal with, hasn't it? Well I am very glad to oblige you. You are a very intelligent man, Mr Holmes, and as we both know, dead men don't walk by themselves. Do they? Scotland Yard will never be able to figure this out on their own, and I don't want them to. This is about you and me...and Dr Watson if you really need him.

I want to play games with you, Mr Holmes, and not all of them of the criminal variety. Do you want to play? Even if you don't think you do right now, I bet you will soon, even if you don't know it yet. You love your puzzles, Sherlock, I know you do. I can provide you with so many puzzles. In fact, the puzzle of the kleptomanic corpse is only a mask for a much bigger puzzle; one that has been staring you in the face for a number of years now. You don't realise it is a puzzle, but solving it will only be the beginning. You want to know who I am, don't you? Who is this mysterious voice who knows things and taunts you and draws you into the web? Moriarty was the least of your problems, Mr Holmes, because he only wanted you to prove a point. Me, I want you for keeps. And I intend to make sure that I succeed. Come into my web, Mr Holmes, it really has been too long, and I am not a patient person.

To Sherlock, with love.

The Duchess


	7. The Regal Lady in the Blood Red Dress

“Sherlock, this cannot be good, there is no WAY this can be good."

"What's the matter, John, is it because you were only requested if really needed?"

"You're still an ass, Sherlock."

"You're welcome." Sherlock replied, smoothly.

"This woman sounds like the love-child of Moriarty and Irene Adler. How in any way can that be a good thing? She wants to play games with you, and not all of them criminal. What on earth does that mean? Who constructs a rotting corpse robbing an MP's house to cover up something else? What the hell could they be covering up? Sherlock, listen to me, just for once. Leave this alone. It won't end well. The last time you tangled with this kind of person, you faked your own death, witnessed a suicide and ended up falling in love with a danger-courting dominatrix. You really want to put yourself and everybody else around you through that again?”

Sherlock tried not to notice the truth behind John's words. The concept of a larger puzzle was too intriguing for him to ignore and he desperately wanted to know who this woman was that wanted to play with him.

John looked at his friend, suspicious of his quietness. There were times when he didn't know how to get through to Sherlock, and this is one of those times.

"I think we need to pay a visit to a certain doctor." Sherlock's voice broke the silence.

"Finally getting your head examined?" John retorted, worried out of his mind.

"Hmmm." Sherlock responded and left the room, John once again trailing behind him.

Molly Hooper was in the pathology lab examining the scarred arms and legs of a newly arrived corpse when two men walked into the lab.

"Dr Watson, hi!" She genuinely liked the man, and found his presence to be calming.

Her grin got smaller as she noticed the taller man behind him.

"Sher...Sherlock, hi." Even though she had shielded the consulting detective from the prying eyes of the media and all his friends and family while everybody thought they were dead, the dynamic of their relationship hadn't much further than somewhat grateful friend to an unassuming friend. She had hoped that they could build open the connection she thought that they had made in the days before and during his self-imposed exile, but true to form, Sherlock only gave emotional access to himself as far as was needed and not a inch further. It made Molly sad.

"Molly, how are you? You look...different today. New lab coat?"

Inside, Molly rolled her eyes. How stupid did he really think she was? She knew every time he tried to manipulate her emotions to get something he wanted; and that was why the days surrounding his disappearance had been so special. They hadn't talked all that much; Sherlock preferring to keep track of Watson and the gang from afar to make sure they weren't in danger, but when they had, they had had intelligent, thoughtful exchanges and Molly had truly believed things might be different at work. Not so. Today, he seemed more preoccupied than usual.

"What do you need Sherlock?" she said out loud, with more nerves than she wished.

"I need a chair." Sherlock smiled. "May I?"

Molly stepped to the side and Sherlock swept past.

Molly sat in her office and watched as Sherlock conducted experiments around the morgue. He looked so happy that she couldn't help but smile. He was so regal and handsome. She imagined him in a pristine tuxedo, curls styled to perfection and cheekbones made to cut glass. That would definitely keep her going tonight, especially if he was dreaming of a regal lady in a blood red dress by his side.

Sherlock abruptly jumped out of the chair that he had John pushing him around in for the past 15 minutes, triumph on his face.

“Dead men don't walk, John, and they certainly don't rob houses. Not unless they are pushed."

John squinted at him. What the hell is he talking about? he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was planning on posting a chapter a day yet, 1 hour in, 7 chapters are up. Why am I like this?
> 
> Hope this is as fun to read as it was to write.
> 
> Interaction welcome ☺️


	8. Sherlock Enthralled

Sherlock sat in his room, re-reading the mysterious letter for what felt like the millionth time. He didn't know why he was so intrigued by the letter, but he couldn't stop reading it. He couldn't tell John about his interest in the Duchess because the last time he became so enthralled by a woman, she had turned out to be an associate for the madman consulting criminal James Moriarty.

Something stirred within him. "I want to play games with you, not all of them of the criminal variety." What other games were there? He didn't know, but he desperately wanted to find out. he hated not knowing something and somebody else knowing it.

The sweet smell of the perfume "Little Black Dress"that Mrs Hudson had identified had yet to fade from the letter, and Sherlock found that he desperately wanted to meet the woman behind the violet and blood red letter and find out what games she wanted to play with him.

Molly rinsed her hair and reached for the lavender scented shower gel she loved so much. Encased in a beautiful violet coloured bottle, she only used it when she really wanted to feel good about herself. That would explain why the bottle was virtually empty. She thought about the book she had on her bedside table. The Duke's Reluctant Bride. She loved reading stories about the aristocracy from any period, and often imagined herself in the female roles of the romance books she enjoyed to read. She never felt ashamed for reading such books because she was a qualified pathologist who played with corpses all day long. She needed some romance in her life. Some excitement. She thought about the new dress hanging in her wardrobe and the beautiful jewels that lay on her dressing table. She didn't have anywhere to wear the floor length crimson gown or the flawlessly cut diamond earrings, but it was nice to know she had something to wear if someone bothered to take the time to ask her out. Hopefully soon that would all change.


	9. The Man with the Three Foot Long Arms

“Tell me something, Lestrade. When you hired Anderson, did he actually have any qualifications?"

"What the hell are you getting at Sherlock?”

“I saw it when we went into the house originally, but I didn't see it until I was in the lab yesterday."

"Sometime today Sherlock." Lestrade sighed impatiently.

"All your men, Anderson included, were all kneeling down at a height of just below 3 feet correct?"

"Yes, so?"

"How tall was your main suspect, who I have to remind you is dead?"

"Just over 6 feet, why?"

"Never mind the fact that somebody would notice a 6 foot plus corpse robbing a member of parliament's home and that only an idiot or a very clever person would leave behind fingerprints in such an audacious robbery; what kind of person has arms of over 3 feet long?"

"What do you mean, arms of 3 feet long?”

“THINK, Lestrade. A man intent on robbing valuables from a big mansion would be careful to a)not leave any fingerprints and b) most likely be walking very quietly, no? So if he is over 6 feet tall and a proper burglar, what are his fingerprints doing three feet down?"

Lestrade's eyes bulged out of his head.

"Dead men don't walk, Lestrade. They can be pushed in a contraption of some kind, though... Somebody is making a statement and using bodies to do it."

"Who?" Lestrade demanded

"The Duchess." Sherlock responded, handing Lestrade the blood red and violet letter, grin a hundred watts bright.

"Who's that exactly?" Lestrade looked indignant and confused.

Sherlock's face fell. "I don't know." he muttered.

~~~~

“Scotland Yard has reported tonight that, in the case of MP Sebastien Alperton-Moss and the house robbery, the forensics were in fact correct as previously stated and the dead man in question was used only as a smokescreen. Detectives and consulting detective Sherlock Holmes, who is aiding Scotland Yard in this matter, are said to be searching for someone known only as The Duchess. Prime Minister David Cameron is said to be pleased that the police force are taking such an interest in the bizarre unfoldings of the case, but anxious to have it wrapped up as soon as possible.”


	10. S is for Spencer, T is for Thomas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Duchess haunts Sherlock, and he snaps.

Dearest Sherlock,

You are so clever, aren't you? Some of the smoke is starting to clear. Of course dead men don't rob houses, but you already knew that. You know what's funny? Nobody has bothered to find out the name of the corpse. It's all suicide this and corpse robber that, but we should always make sure we have everything covered right? You never know what might be useful.

How are you liking my game, Mr Holmes? Are you getting any closer? Or are you staring so hard at the trees that you cant see the woods? The devil may be in the details, Mr Holmes, but you can't forget the big picture. I am so excited for the time you finally figure out what's going on. I can't wait to see your face. Do you want to meet me, Mr Holmes? Am I starting to slip into your dreams? Can you smell the perfume from my letters wherever you go? It's intoxicating, isn't it, Mr Holmes? Just like you. Welcome to my world, Mr Holmes.

Until next time,

To Sherlock with love.

The Duchess

 

Sherlock woke up in a sweat. He had been dreaming that he was some kind of royal and his date was a tall woman in a blood red dress, and the perfume, that perfume was surrounding his senses. Clouding his judgement. The woman had no face, and as he searched for more defining features, everyone around him turned into her, men and women. It was only one of him surrounded by so many of her, faceless and taunting him with puzzles.

"The name of the corpse is Spencer Thomas. He was a lawyer for Corrington, Perry and Ryland, and he committed suicide after he lost a major divorce battle for socialite Kelly Kerrington and her ex-husband Sean Kerrington. It was said he lost his company £17 million."

"Why this man, why this house! What's the link? The Duchess said that names were important. What's so fascinating about Spencer Thomas? Was he friends with the family, an ex-boyfriend? The lawyer? Why can't you do your JOBS?"

Sherlock screamed at the room in general and the whole room went silent. Sherlock had been looking more and more stressed since he received the second letter, and it had become obvious that this was personal. This Duchess person was messing with Sherlock, and it scared everyone to see how far Sherlock would go to solve the case.

“Find out who Spencer Thomas is, or or dont bother contacting me.”


	11. Bertram Abbey Part 1

The next day, Molly was sat in the corner of her office polishing off the last chapter of The Duke's Reluctant Bride when Sherlock stormed into the lab. His mood had not changed since the day before, and it was beginning to affect those aorund him more than usual.

Sherlock took one glance at the bare chested duke and his pink clothed companion on the cover of the book.

"What on earth are you reading, Molly?"

"Uh..uh,just a romance novel. Nothing important." she stuttered quietly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well let's put that pathology brain to good use."

Molly looked pained. She never got used to Sherlock's acerbic ways.

"According to the records, a man named Spencer Thomas was brought here for autopsy. Did you perform it?" 

"Spen-Spencer Thomas? Let me just check my books."

Molly scuttled back into her office and Sherlock blew an impatient breath. Molly was such a smart girl, and she had helped him out when it was needed, but this meek persona she had around him wore on his last nerve. He wasn't going to bite her, and the sooner she realised that the better. 

"No, I didnt. Ive checked some of the other logs and John Harrison was the one who conducted the autopsy."

John Harrison was a newly qualified pathologist who was well known for his left wing stances and theories on the redistribution of wealth.

"So it is possible that John Harrison used the body of a well-known lawyer to make a statement about the wealth of Alperton-Moss and to hit back at those "undeserving." Sherlock mused out loud.

Molly smiled at him, knowing not to say anything else for fear of sounding stupid in front of him. 

"But then, how does The Duchess figure into all this? Is it a red herring for John Harrison or is John Harrison a red herring for The Duchess? And why is the name Spencer Thomas so important? Eurgh!" 

Molly had a bright idea "Maybe there's a connection between-" 

But Sherlock had already left the room. 

Sherlock was back, curled on the sofa, in his pyjamas, words whirling around his head, ideas and patterns that didn't seem to fit. In the corner, Watson's tapping punctuated the silence. A cough joined the keyboard. 

"Sherlock?" 

"Did I not tell you to not contact me unless you had a link?" "We have a new case- and a new letter.”

“A new letter?!" Sherlock's interest in one but not the other was clear. 

"It was delivered to the station today for your attention. We have another jewel robbery." 

“Why to the station? Why not to my house as per the rest? Where's the robbery?" 

"I don't know, I don't know and Bertram Abbey." 

Mr Holmes, 

You may be wondering why this latest letter wasn't delivered to your house like the last two, right? What can I say, I know you. How else would I draw you to the scene of the next crime unless you knew it was connected to me? Lestrade isn't the smartest of men, but he is such a useful pawn to have. He did exactly as I hoped, and now you're walking down my path. 

Do you like the scenery Mr Holmes? The view at the end of the path is stunning, if I do say so myself. Remember, Mr Holmes, the devil is in the details, but you can't miss out on the bigger picture. Nothing is as it seems, Mr Holmes, yet everything is as it seems. 

Please solve it soon, Mr Holmes, because the games that come after the completion are so much better than the ones that come before. 

I'm dying for you to meet me. 

To Sherlock, with love. 

The Duchess


	12. Bertram Abbey Part 2

Bertram Abbey was a stunning gothic era listed buildng on the edge of West London and Surrey. The stomping ground of some of the aristocracy's young and fabulous, it was reputed to have several items of historic value on the grounds. At the moment though, the worth of the grounds, in Sherlock's eyes, had gone down significantly, as  
Anderson was currently roaming around the building dusting for more fingerprints.

Sally Donovan walked out of the entrance and looked Sherlock up and down.

"Evening, freak. Dr Watson."  
"Ah, Sergeant Donovan, pleasant as always."  
"Anyway, a selection of rubies and emeralds have been taken from the main drawing room safe, and all that was left was this."  
Sally held up a bottle of Little Black Dress perfume, which was nearly empty, and Sherlock stalked into the house.

As Sherlock walked into the main drawing room, where Anderson now was, the scent of The Duchess's letters hit him like chloroform.

"It's her, or something to do with her. She was here. This is her scent. She's toying with me damnit. It's all CONNECTED!" Spencer Thomas, Bertram Abbey, John Harrison and The Duchess are all linked, but how?!"

"Does this help?" Anderson, in a very rare move, approached Sherlock, with a blood red rose in his hand tied with a violet ribbon.

"Anderson, you've actually proved yourself to be useful. The scent, the flower, the colours, it's all connected...Spencer Thomas, Bertram Abbey, John Harrison, the Duchess..."

Sherlock went quiet, as he went to his mind palace.

"OH! How could I be so blind?"

"Sherlock?" John and Lestrade said in unison.

"All this time, I have been wondering who The Duchess might be. But of course that's the red herring. I was double bluffed. The Duchess seems like the obvious red herring, too obvious for me to consider it to be a red herring, it was there and not there. Oh! Spencer Thomas, Bertram Abbey. Think about it, John. If you were spelling something out. John Harrison works at St Barts, and the pertinent names- Spencer Thomas- ST. Bertram Abbey-BA. I am certain that something will turn up involving the letters RTS. The corpse was examined while he was on duty, he had perfect access. The Duchess as John Harrison is calling himself is sending us a game within a game within another game. He wants me to find him, so he is spelling out the hospital. The female persona was a clever diversion, which was masked in the clever diversion of a kleptomanic corpse. We would spend so long finding out who the corpse was and then trying to find this Duchess person that the task at hand could be completed, but the clues weren't so obscure that he wouldn't be labelled for it. It's about the infamy and the cause. Oh, it was all about the work. I can appreciate that. Lestrade, I believe I have solved the case of the kleptomanic corpse."

"As per usual, Sherlock saves the day." Lestrade smiled with some warmth. "I guess we have a pathologist to arrest."

Sherlock turned to John and smiled. "Shall we go, John? I believe I have a wall to pay for.”


	13. The Royal Tennis Society

“I am a genius, John, and nobody should doubt me." Sherlock strode into the kitchen, skull in hand.

"If this latest letter is anything to go by, you're probably right, much as I hate to say it."

"Another letter?" Sherlock turned around and stared at John,who silently handed him the letter.

Mr Holmes,

You are a very smart man, aren't you? You managed to figure out there was a red herring. Shame you picked the wrong one. What did I say to you, Mr Holmes? You spent so long on the details, you didn't see the bigger picture. Or maybe you spent so long on the bigger picture that you didn't see the details. You decide.

A girl can't wait forever, Mr Holmes, I told you, I'm not a patient woman. So I am going to speed this up a little; like I said, this is only the beginning of the games; most of the fun is had once you get to the end of the path. And so, I am going to present myself to you, exactly as you wish, but you will only see me if you have been paying attention. Not all the clues you will see, but you will see enough if you look carefully. How's that for a puzzle, Mr Holmes? 

With this letter, I have enclosed two tickets for the Royal Tennis Society gala and Dinner. I'm sure you expected the RTS, because you're a smart man. Smart enough to attend and look closely.

I can't wait to see you, my dear.

To Sherlock, with love.

The Duchess.

"You clean up well, Sherlock." Sally Donovan, looking resplendent in a white floor length gown, smiled at the detective.

"If only this case would clean itself as well as you say I do, then we could all sleep at night." Sherlock, as ever, ignored the compliment in favour of more important things.

"Who interesting even plays tennis anyway?" Sherlock bit out after a moment of silence.

"I think Molly said she used to play a bit in college." Lestrade pointed out, looking suave in his tuxedo.

Sherlock didn't respond. He was too busy trying to detect the scent of every woman who happened to walk in his vicinity, anxious to discover the woman who had fooled him and played him like a fiddle.

"Speaking of which, where is Molly anway? She's meant to be here with the rest of us. I mean it is her morgue's body that got stolen."

"She got stuck in traffic, bless her soul. Sometimes I wonder at you, Sherlock. She saved you when you had no choice, and you still act like an android." Lestrade cut his eyes to Sherlock, who had the decency to look guilty. 

Molly had in fact already arrived at the gala and watched the group from a side entrance. Lestrade, Sherlock and Dr Watson all looked handsome in tuxedos, while Sergeant Donovan had a white rose in her hair and a white off the shoulder dress. Molly looked down at her own blood red gown, and her diamond earrings and hoped she looked the part. The violet corsage on her wrist completed the look. The devil in the red dress, she thought, and smiled. 


	14. This is my game and I’m calling the shots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Molly delivers a KO and Sherlock is outsmarted.

Throughout the evening, Sherlock had stared at the ladies in the room, something that amused Lestrade and John highly. Molly kept tripping over her ball gown and blushing furiously, before fleeing early in embarassment and Sally had found herself the centre of attention by a group of very eligible young men. The entire case was nothing more a wide goose chase, designed to waste his time. He flounced into his room and lay face first on the bed, without turning on the light.

"I would have thought tonight's clues would have helped you solve the case." a voice came out of the darkness.

Sherlock sat bolt upright.

"But sometimes I suppose, if you aren't looking at the right things, then you don't see what's right in front of you, do you?"

"Molly?" Sherlock whispered, very confused.

Molly turned on the lamp, and gone was the shy woman who Sherlock recognised. In her place was a very confident-looking, very indignant and very triumphant Molly Hooper. 

"You see, Sherlock, for someone who is so clever, you're a bit of an idiot. I spelt it out for you literally. I gave you visual aids. I even made it abundantly clear, and still you didn't recognise me."

Sherlock's face twisted in confusion. 

"Go on, you can do it, I know you can. Go to that little mind palace of yours and figure it out. I'll even help you if you like."

Sherlock's brain frittered through all the facts of the case. St Barts. John Harrison. The Duchess. Little Black Dress perfume. The letters. The jewellery. The dead body. The colours. The romance book. The romance book.”

“It looks like you've cracked it, you clever man." "The Duke's Reluctant Bride. It was the name of the book you were reading. You were telling me right from the beginning."

"Go on." Molly teased.

"The letters..." Sherlock stopped and looked at her. 

"The contents of the letter weren't important- it was the letters themselves. Violet and red. You placed them in front of me in different combinations, so it would be enough to confuse me. The violet envelope with the blood red seal. The blood red rose with the violet ribbon..." 

Sherlock looked at her again "The blood red dress and the violet corsage." He said in wonder. "You even linked flowers together." He followed, with admiration. 

"The diamond earrings weren't a bad touch, if I do say so myself." Molly laughed without mirth.

”But...the rest, it doesn't make sense. Little Black Dress perfume. John Harrison, the dead body.” 

”John, bless him. He's misguided but he tries. He was the perfect foil for my plan. Aristocracy are being robbed and a strongly vocal left wing activist is on the last minutes of his duty when the body goes missing? I would say it was too perfect to plan, but I did it. I simply replaced the body with a different one after my routine checks were done, and left you to connect the dots. I must say, it was a lot of fun pushing a dead body along in a wheely office chair leaving fingerprints willy nilly. Not quite as easy to manipulate a dead hand into picking things up as you might think, though.” 

Sherlock couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"As for the perfume, I told you about that earlier, but you just werent paying attention. Despite what you might think, I am not nearly as clumsy as I let you think and, since when do iPhones move from the middle of a "call" to a particular picture in a particular folder after being dropped anyway?" 

The Christmas party. She was wearing a little black dress.

“But...why? What was the point of all this, Molly?" Molly got out of the chair and stalked over to him until they were almost nose to nose. 

"You obviously didn't read closely. This is my game, and I'm calling the shots." she whispered, before walking out and slamming the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is my favourite chapter from the entire story so far.  
> Thoughts?


	15. Sherlock Stunned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before.

John was worried about Sherlock. Officially, the case was finished, but Sherlock seemed to be taking it harder than anybody had expected. Nobody knew why Molly had done what she had done, and if Sherlock knew, he wasn't telling.

At the moment, Sherlock was sat in his armchair, staring into the kitchen, no skull, no violin, no nothing. John walked up to him and put his hand on his shoulder.

"Sherlock, you alright?"

Sherlock looked up at his best friend. "I'm perfectly fine, John. I'm just musing on the motive of the case. Normally the motive comes with the culprit, but this time..."

John turned away to the kitchen for a moment while he worked out what to say to his friend. When he turned around again, Sherlock was gone.

Molly had just finished brushing her hair before bed when there was a knock on her front door. She never really had any visitors, so Molly was curious as to who might be at the door. Cautiously, she walked out of her bedroom and opened her door. Who she saw there blew her away.

"Molly..."

"Sherlock, why are you here? Our game is over, you got your answer. You can go back to ignoring me now. Goodnight." She moved to shut the door. Sherlock looked confused.

"Why are you trying to shut the door in my face?" "Because you're unbelievable. You turn up at my door in the evening when I may well be busy to-what? Ask some inane questions? Find a way to show me you weren't spectacularly out-gunned? Just to strut around a little bit? All of them?

"No, I was just wondering..."

"You're always just wondering. Get to the point." 

Sherlock was non-plussed by this morphing woman.

"Why did you do it Molly? You're a smart and quiet pathologist in a good job. Why reduce yourself to mutilation of corpses, breaking and entering and obstruction of justice?"

Molly rolled her eyes in a signal of boredom.

“Gosh, you still don't get it, do you? After the Christmas present, being there for you when you needed me most and constantly bringing you coffee and you still say you're so much smarter than everybody else." 

A silence reigned over the room. Molly sighed. "You know what? You aren't even worth the hassle. You should leave."

"Molly. Just an explanation. Please.” 

Molly sighed again. 

"I've been in love with you for years and tears and you are so stupid, it's like you're walking around with your eyes closed. How could you not see? Even when I made it into a crime for you, you still didn't know why."

"Molly...I..." Sherlock started.

Molly made a noise of disgust.

"Just leave, Sherlock. Just go. You can let yourself out." Molly walked into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. Sherlock was left standing by the front door, stunned.


	16. I guess this is why they call it the blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Action and inaction have emotional consequences

With Sherlock staring out of the window imposingly, Lestrade quietly gestured to John.“What's his problem? He looks even more sinister than usual."

"Molly has completely KO'ed him. You know the whole Duchess situation? Molly confessed and issued him a challenge, but he doesn't know what the challenge is, she wont tell him and he can't figure it out."

"He really doesn't know what the situation is? As soon as you told me that it was Molly, I know exactly what her game is. Bless her, at least she tried a different tack than sitting there waiting."

Sherlock looked at them, hearing but not hearing, and left the office, heading for the morgue. John gave Lestrade a pointed look and followed behind him.

Molly turned around at the sound of footsteps coming to the morgue. Ever since Sherlock had come to her flat two days ago, she had been nervous and on edge. She had to admit to herself that she hadn't really thought about what she was going to do once Sherlock knew it was her that had done some very bad things. She had felt triumphant and strong when she sat in his room, pointing out how blind he was to not realise what was in front of him, but now she was the one who felt stupid. She felt down and she felt weird waiting for Sherlock to scorn her or...well there was no or, but at least she had had fun doing it. That was, if she didnt get arrested for her troubles.

"Hi Molly!" John sounded overly cheery, and as Molly jumped and then turned to look at him, she could see why. John Watson was not alone, and his companion was staring straight at her as though, if he stared long enough, he might be able to see into her mind. Sometimes she wished he could, because it would make life so much easier. She liked him, like really liked him, and it still did not seem to sink into his head that the only reason someone might risk arrest and possibly certification into a mental institution is because they were in severe trouble of falling too fast for someone. He might never figure it out, and this made her very sad indeed.

In his chest, Sherlock felt a feeling he had never felt before. He felt lost. Here was Molly, the pathologist he had known for years, and he had no idea what she was about. All the usual cues with her lipstick and the way she was biting her lip (which usually signified she was nervous and wanted to look good) no longer computed in his head now that he realised she had a completely devious and daring side to her. What made him even more lost is that he had no idea why she had done was she had, but he knew he liked the idea of her outwitting him and actually thinking up such a grand and elaborate scheme. The fact that he was glad that she had outwitted him did not make the feeling of bewilderment and confusion any better. As he stared at her and she stared back at him staring at her, he realised that, as much as he liked all of these things, he did not like where that had left them. Deep down, he trusted Molly, and for her to pull off such a scheme, it had to mean that either she did not trust him back or that Molly was not happy with things as they were...But what did that even mean?

John stood and watched as the detective and the pathologist stared at each other as they were the only two people alive. He couldn't tell what Sherlock was thinking, which wasn't unusual, but he could tell that Sherlock was confused by whatever it was that he was thinking. John smiled inwardly. Now he's getting it, he thought. He had been as shocked as anyone to find out that Molly was the one who had orchestrated the scheme and created Duchess persona, but he knew why she had done and secretly, even though he did not condone crime, he applauded her for taking a stand and trying something new to find out whether what she wanted was worth it.

Molly found it quite disconcerting that Sherlock was still staring at her and not saying anything. What she found more disconcerting was what he did next:

"Well, Molly, just came to see how you were getting on, but you seem incredibly busy. Come along John!" and swept out of the room, his blue overcoat swinging behind him.

"What?" she said to an empty room.

That night, Sherlock sat alone in his room. He felt so sad and lost and angry and bewildered that he couldn't even play his violin. What was he to do?

That night, Molly went to bed, cold and alone. She felt so sad and lost and angry and bewildered that she couldn't even bring herself to watch the latest episode of The Mindy Project. What was she to do?


	17. The Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock needs a push to deal with his...situation.

“How do you think he will respond to us being so forward as to give him advice?" Mrs Hudson asked nervously.

"Mrs Hudson, you know we had to do this. He's been miserable and out of sorts for weeks now. He even complimented Anderson on his work." John reassured the older woman, who looked like she might cry.

"I still don't understand why I'm here." Anderson commented from the spot by the kitchen door.

“He complimented you!" Watson, Lestrade and Donovan, who was also in the kitchen, all exclaimed.

Sherlock had had quite enough of today. He wanted his mental faculties back, and he wanted another case. Now that The Duchess case was effectively over, he felt weighed down by complete and utter boredom. Now, walking up to the stairs to 221B Baker Street, he hoped there would be a sheikh covered in blood or a princess with papers that were a national security threat to the UAE to rev his engines.

Suffice to say what he did find was not at all what he wanted or needed.

"What are you doing in my flat?! John, why are they here? If this is another drugs bust, Lestrade!" Sherlock, as expected, was not impressed to see them there.

"We are here because...you complimented Anderson." Lestrade began hesitantly.

"I did not compliment Anderson...What is Anderson doing here anyway?" Sherlock sneered.  
“It's an intervention, Sherlock. You do know what an intervention is right?" John sighed, wanting to get the show on the road.

"Of course I know what an intervention is, I am not stupid. In fact, I am smarter than everyone in this room combined so don't patronise me. What I want to know is why"

"Molly." John said simply.

Sherlock stared back at John, and looked around the room. Mrs Hudson, Watson, Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan all stared back at him. Sherlock's brain whirred inside his head. He needed something to focus his brain on, and these slow-witted people may have actually helped him find it.

"What about her?" He said simply, with no appearance of extra care or attention.

"She's got to you. Don't even deny it because all of us can see it as plain as day. Why do you think we're all here? It's affecting your work. You really need to do something about it and soon because, if you don't, you will spend your days being miserable and complimenting Anderson." John continued.

"It even freaked me out, and I have been waiting for years to find out you were actually human." Anderson quipped. Sherlock gave him a side look and Anderson's grin disappeared. Sherlock stared around the room. Nobody was brave enough to speak up for a couple of minutes, until Donovan said

"Why were you so keen to find out whom she was before, and now you know it was Molly, you don't want to find out why? I mean we all know why, but don't you want to really find out? It's not like you to leave something unfinished. You normally chase it down and..."

"What exactly do you want me to do?" Sherlock, exasperated, broke off her sentence.

"Are you asking or is this a rhetorical question?" Lestrade wanted to know.

"I'm asking, obviously.”

  John pinched the bridge of his nose. Despite being used to Sherlock's acerbic nature, he sometimes wished he would be a bit more grateful for when people tried to help him. He had given up on reminding him though, because he needed his breath and his words often fell on deaf ears.

"Just speak to her, please? For me, Sherlock. Please? If not for yourself, then for me? I can't stand seeing you so miserable and drawn. You can be such a silly boy sometimes. I don't know why you don't listen to those around you. You're not always the smartest, you know. Not at everything. "

Mrs Hudson had officially had the last word, and the rest of them felt as though the matter had been discussed all it could with the likes of Sherlock. Donovan picked up her bag and motioned for Anderson to join her.

"Good luck, freak." Donovan smiled as she left the room. She turned to John and said, simply:

“Whatever he does, make sure he does it right."

John nodded.

Lestrade and Mrs Hudson turned to look at each other. They had a lot of work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure everyone’s thinking “hold on, what about the fact that Molly is a criminal now?”
> 
> That won’t be ignored, but this story is about two dear friends in need, and the nature of the characters (even in the show I’d say) is that that trumps the immediate need for punishment.


	18. A brief chat between Watson and Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we get to be the fly on the walll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second of two chapters at once, because this one is tiny.

“Do you actually think he will be able to pull off what he has planned?"

"I don't know, Greg, but for his sake, I hope it does. He's never really been in this sort of situation before and, if it doesn't, I'd hate to think how he would react."

"You've gotta give Sherlock credit though-he is definitely pulling out all the stops.”

“Now we know where all the money he saves from sharing a flat goes to."

"I think Molly is going to be in for a real treat tomorrow night."

"You know what, John? I think so too. And I think it's the least she deserves after everything. "

The two men nodded and clicked their glasses together. Whatever happened, alcohol was most definitely going to be needed from here on in.


	19. Lay Bare For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock does what Sherlock does best, and then tries his hand at something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably the most misleading yet not misleading chapter title in fan fiction history. Undertones towards the end of the chapter upgrade the story from T to M

2am

Sherlock couldn’t sleep. He had told his misguided friends that he would sort out his situation with Molly tonight in an attempt to appease them after they had launched an intervention - the nerve!- but now, in the dark depths of the night, the curiosity tickled at his mind in a way no case had before. Most criminals...

He paused. It cut deeper than he wanted or expected to have to think about Molly as the criminal at the end of the case, but the facts were clear. She had manipulated corpses, obstructed justice and wasted police time, and Sherlock didn’t know why, and nobody else would tell him.

Another uncomfortable sensation crept over him. He wasn’t used to being the only one in the room who didn’t know something. Of course, John and the rest knew more about banal things like the solar system and sentiment, but those things weren’t important. 

Sherlock circled back to his original thoughts. Most criminals were keen to show off their intellect, often boasting of how long they had planned it out or how much time it had taken for him to solve it, but Molly had solved her own crimes for him, leaving him with a far bigger puzzle. He wanted to know what it was she was thinking, why she had decided to risk everything. What could be so important?

Sherlock sat up suddenly, sheets sticking to his body as it broke out in a cold sweat. Not what, who.

If he was going to get to the heart of this puzzle, Angelo’s wasn’t going to do. Not if she was masquerading as a duchess. No, this unexpected turn of events required the best of the best. Sherlock picked up his phone, tapping feverishly in quick succession.

Need access to a livery hall. Don’t care which one. Must be grand, catered and private. Text me when done. S.H.

A response came within 1 minute. 

It’s 2am. 

Sherlock’s fingers flew across the keyboard, the urgent need to set things in motion pulsating in his veins.

And yet, here you are responding to me...

The next reply was slower. Sherlock smirked. Mycroft had obviously taken time to grit his teeth and curse his name. Good. He hadn’t lost his touch. 

Consider it handled.

Sherlock was almost satisfied, but something else was needed. He needed her there. But how? His mind whirred, examining the minutiae of a case that was possibly his most complex yet. This was what his mind liked; the chase of a puzzle, the thrill of a solution and not even now the unknown quantity of Molly Hooper could shock that out of him. 

And then, Sherlock smiled.

****

Molly didn’t think she could take any more not knowing. She had three bodies on her list before lunchtime and her stomach was turning in ways not caused by the post-mortem procedure. 

‘I wish they would come in and arrest me, thsr Sherlock would put me out of my misery and tell everyone he finally solved the puzzle of the desperate doctor masquerading as a duchess’ she thought to herself, cursing the day she met the man who drove her to distraction. All throughout her teens and twenties, she had been dependable and unassuming and now, the minute she tried to do something brave, she ended up breaking the law. 

The morgue door opened, and Molly twitched before turning, expecting but not wanting to see a familiar pale face behind her. 

“Oh hello!” she squeaked, the sheer surprise of seeing John standing there on his own almost freezing her vocal chords. 

“Molly...hi.” John wasn’t sure where to look, his brain and heart still at war over how to look at his friend. His moral compass told him that what she had done was not okay, but hadn’t he bent the rules for Sherlock more than once? He hated being forced to question what he stood for, and hated even more that Molly had felt it necessary to go to such lengths. He hoped, whatever else happened, that Sherlock proved to be worth the trouble.

“How are you? Any new cases? I’m sure you’re very busy, running around saving the world. Heh.” 

“I’m definitely saving somebody, that’s for sure.” John smiled, feeling more at home with this Molly that he recognised. If he could do his part to salvage something from this, then maybe it would have all been worth it. Maybe. 

He laid an elaborate cream envelope on a nearby work surface, labelled with a exquisite black calligraphy font.

“I better be going, but please....whatever’s inside...give it a chance.” 

Molly instinctively knew that whatever was inside was from Sherlock, and her nausea threatened to escape. When all was said and done, could she face him after what she’d done ? Should she?

Her heart and brain debated over the question for the rest of her shift.

***

6.45pm

“You look amazing.” Mrs Hudson was with Molly in her flat, getting her dressed, and that wasn’t the weirdest thing about her evening. No, the weirdest thing was the contents of the letter that John had left for her and had been burning her hole in her mind ever since.

My lady,

I must admit you have me at a disadvantage, for you know what makes me tick yet I find I have no such claim to a return statement. I would be committing a grievous error in denying I have enjoyed the intricate web you have weaved, but a far greater regret would be to go on without knowing the full motive behind it.

It pains me to admit it, my lady, for my reputation as intellectually superior is of the utmost importance, yet I find my desire to understand far greater than my need to impress. Your actions have made an indelible impression on me, and I recognise the need to submit myself to you in order to achieve clarity on our unexpectedly delicate circumstance. In short, my lady, I humbly request that you lay bare for me; open your mind, your soul, your very being, and grant me entrance to what lies beneath, for I believe therein lies the secret to this most challenging conundrum.

Please join me, your humble servant, at Goldsmiths Hall at 7.30pm, where I shall endeavour to prove myself worthy of the puzzle you have presented.

Humbly,

S. Holmes

***  
7.45pm

Somehow they had both survived the initial greeting, and now they were sat alone, he in tails and stunning fitted grey morning trousers and she in her red dress that made Sherlock’s blood now rise in ways he could not understand. The diamond chandeliers above them were echoed around her neck and ears, and the gilded gold walls reflected the rich silence which enveloped them. A collection of silver domed dishes were tasked with bridging the chasm between them as the two sole occupants did nothing but stare at their companion. 

Sherlock’s mind itched. The key to this sat across the table, and yet he could not find the delicate words required to grasp it.

“The salmon here is exceptionally lovely.” he said instead, picking up the entree, his intellect almost wincing at the inane topic.

Molly wordlessly accepted the proffered dish, grateful for the distraction from the unnatural silence. She knew he had questions, but her nerves were unsure whether she welcomed the inevitable. Time to double down, she thought.

“I’m sure it is but sufficient, if it echoes your efforts thus far.”

Sherlock’s patience snapped. He couldn’t pretend not to be bewildered by this...machination presented to him. Everything he believed about Molly, everything he saw about her, he could trust none of it. He ignored the tickle of...something inside himself that accompanied the notion that Molly had not only bested him, he had enjoyed this case beyond compare. 

“Molly...” he breathed.

“Lay bare for you, that’s what you requested. Is that what you want? In your heart of hearts? Sherlock Holmes, for all your intelligence, are you ready for what that could mean?” 

Molly looked him dead in the eye as she spoke, and the frisson of something dark and delicious danced between them. Sherlock found himself powerless, as unexpected images played in his mind’s eye at the intonation Molly gave his request. He shivered involuntarily. 

He whispered one solitary word. 

“....Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a real challenge to write and I actually split the events I wanted to happen here across 2 chapters, so Chapter 20’s event will follow on directly from here.


	20. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the huge gap. The muse disappeared and real life came through fast! This is probably the most important chapter of the story so I hope it works.

“You know which personality characteristic seems like SUCH a compliment, but is really a double edged sword? Dependability.” 

Molly paused, sipping her champagne. 

“At first, it feels nice. People know they can count on you: turning up to birthday parties, handing in homework on time, helping out other people with their problems. Who doesn’t want to be that friend who everybody praises for always being there? Family don’t worry about your grades because they know you’ll always work hard to achieve your dreams. You’re too socially awkward to get into too many fights and you’re never the centre of any family drama. Who would complain about that?”

She paused again, watching the confusion cross Sherlock’s face. Her heart ached knowing that, in the past few years, this man was a key culprit in taking her for granted and still he didn’t see. Was this man’s love even worth it? Could she really say she didn’t regret doing what she had to finally get his attention? No, she couldn’t, but the regret at letting him- and everybody else- walk all over her would have been ten fold. Somehow, in winning, she had also lost and she knew it would have felt the same no matter what she had done. The sober feeling wiped away the bliss of the bubbles on her tongue in an instant. 

“I could complain about that. I could. It started off innocently enough and I didn’t mind. Friends didn’t worry if they saw me in the corridor chatting to their crush because it was Molly and Molly was dependable. At the cheesy end of year school dance, my crush said he knew he could wait to get his proposal right because he knew I would still be available....I should have realised it then....my parents congratulated me on getting into medical school but not the same way they congratulated anyone else in the family- it was a forgone conclusion so it didn’t need too much fanfare. That’s when I knew something was wrong: my own family were taking my achievements for granted.” 

She could see the realisation dawn on Sherlock’s face; the recognition that he was a part of a larger problem; the understanding that he on his own hadn’t caused the problem but he had triggered the response. The ultimate in both importance and unimportance. Today, he was finally understanding.

“By this point, it felt like it was too late to speak my mind and tell people I was tired of being put last, but I knew I couldn’t just accept other people’s opinions of me. At first, I let it out through my love of romance novels...beautiful duchesses, dashing dukes, larger than life balls...then I started buying things I liked that weren’t what people expected, a little aspirational shopping. Harmless, sad, dependable Molly.”

She gestured to her dress and jewellery, feeling the weight of Sherlock’s icy orbs following her movements. 

“It was all supposed to be harmless; remind me that I still had a chance to define myself. It was easy for a while after you joined my life...you hadn’t trusted me yet and I wasn’t so far gone as to give away all my feelings...then you trusted me, Sherlock. It was okay at first, because I promised myself it would be different. Next thing I know, you’re insulting me at Christmas, I’m helping to fake your death, you’re staying in my home and after all that....nothing changed. All my displacement, all my coping mechanisms...they hadn’t worked. I’d fallen into the same trap. I hated myself for it, and I hated you for making me love you and then being so blind to it.”

Absentmindedly, Molly cut a piece of the parsnip in front of her, not even remembering how it got on her plate. The scrape against the gold plate cut an eerie sound in the cavernous hall. 

“For once, I wanted to be the main attraction, the brightest diamond in the collection. If I didn’t take the chance for myself, I would never leave the role that other people cast me in. I decided to play a game. It was meant to just be a series of letters to keep your mind occupied, but that was pathetic and...dependable..”

Molly spat the word like it was poison.

“And so sweet, dependable Molly decided in the dead of night, dehydrated from tears, to set a plan in motion that meant I obstructed justice, framed others for robbery, violated a corpse for its fingerprints and then lied to the entire country about it. It felt daring in places, bragging about it to you from the safety of a nom de plume and others it felt so disgusting that I couldn’t wait for it to be discovered, but I was driven by the power to confuse people...to confuse you; and the chance to prove that I am nobody’s last resort and nobody’s safe choice.” 

Sherlock was stunned. Before he had met Molly, very few people had worked to know him, sacrificed themselves for him or even put him in his place. The woman before him had become so disillusioned with him and what he represented that she had risked her entire career to make him see how he had hurt her with his ignorance. He had always known she felt affection for him, and that he cared for her, but he hadn't stopped to think hard enough about how depending on her affected their relationship. No, her relationship with herself. The guilt set into his gut like a hot stone; piercing, hollow and all encompassing. 

“You know the funny thing, Sherlock?” She looked determined now, standing up so that she towered over him.

“What?” he whispered; scared of the answer.

“Now I sit her across from you, I don’t even know if it was all worth it. If you’re worth it. You create this fancy dinner, brag about how smart you are and you claim to see everything; but you saw me exactly how you wanted, just like everybody else. I don’t have anything left to prove to you, but I am starting to wonder why you’re so special and if you were worth the price. Nevertheless, I may have compromised myself and my career to vindicate all my years of loneliness and dissatisfaction, but it was worth it to tell you that you were wrong to treat me as less than I deserved to suit yourself, and now you know I won’t stand for it, it’s time to find yourself a new fool.” 

Not even waiting for his response, she turned on her heel and left, leaving a man whose face dropped like his whole world had fallen apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments etc appreciated!


	21. 4 Page Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock expresses his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After several chapters, five year writing hiatus and plenty of comments, we are finally reaching the romantic phase of the story. This could go several ways...Muse, do your thing! Title inspiration from 4 Page Letter Aaliyah. “I’ll prove it to you” inspired by Danny Castellano in The Mindy Project Season 2 finale.

Two Days Ago   
As Molly drew further and further away and the sound of the heavy door closing behind her was nothing more than the faint mental traces of an echo, Sherlock sat. His face, unmoving, spread falsehoods about his inner turmoil. Sherlock Holmes was not okay. Like John, he had always treated Molly a certain way. That was how he showed he cared. Mean most days, compliments when it counted. Sherlock huffed out a dry, humourless chuckle. He really was a high-functioning sociopath. 

Perhaps a little too high functioning. The anguish and desperation in his chest was not from being confused about the case; Molly had put paid to that in the most spectacular way imaginable. No, he wanted to make it right. But how?

That night, the shadows crept over the table long before Sherlock left the hall.

***  
One Day Ago 

John didn’t know what to do with the Sherlock that was currently residing at 221B Baker Street. This Sherlock didn’t make barbs or experiment on skulls or even shoot holes in the wall (he never thought he’d miss that). Instead, the Sherlock he was now faced with was moping from room to room, occasionally muttering about promises and true feelings before running into his room to do...well, John wasn’t sure exactly what, but it was clearly important. 

Everyone had asked Sherlock how the dinner at Goldsmiths Hall went, but he had merely said informative in the most uninterested manner possible and refused to discuss the subject any further. John had learnt enough to know that Sherlock was processing whatever had been said between himself and Molly, but he wished he could help. The doctor in him didn’t know how to stand on the sidelines during an injury, and it didn’t sit right with him. What else could he do? 

***

Present

 

Dear Molly, 

I have sat here writing this letter for two days, constantly editing and re-writing my words to do justice to the alien feelings I have been quietly ignoring for so many years. I want to make sure I get this right the first time, but I don’t want to spend so long second-guessing that I lose any chance I may have of making amends. No, making amends is not enough. I want to make progress. 

You matter, you’ve always mattered. I thought I had been clear in my expressions, but I see now how wrong I was. How foolish I was. How blind. You are a constant force in my life, not because you are predictable or dependable, but because you are wise, kind and brave. You’re not afraid to tell me when I am wrong, slap me when I’m high, or help me pull off the most daring sleight of hand I have ever attempted. I have always cared about you, in my way, but now that I know it’s not enough, I want to care about you, in your way. I probably wouldn’t survive without you in my life, and now I know that is a very real danger, I have to do all I can to keep you with me. That is, if you wish it. I know better now than to presume I know what you are thinking or feeling. Will you find it within you to give me a chance?  
A woman as smart and forward thinking as you have yet again shown yourself to be is deserving of having the very best man by your side. I want to be that man. I will be that man. I’ll prove it to you. 

Yours all this time,

Sherlock.


End file.
